


Elevated

by radical



Category: Metal Gear
Genre: M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Sex Pollen, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-10
Updated: 2015-10-10
Packaged: 2018-04-25 19:17:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,688
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4973074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/radical/pseuds/radical
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sex pollen, Otacon thought hysterically. It was the kind of thing fanfiction was written about.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Elevated

**Author's Note:**

> You know what this fandom needs? More mindless smut. Geez.

It was a huge oversight.

  
_Huge oversight._

  
Otacon wasn't a chemical engineer, had never really cared to edge into the realm of biological organisms... but he had vaguely known something was fishy about the set up. An automobile parts factory doubling as a chip manufacturer for nukes? That itself was suspicious, that was what they were in there for.

  
But having two biochemists on the payroll? An obvious clue. Why would there be....

  
He should have known it went deeper. It was too good to be true, as it usually was, but their window of opportunity was too short to fully investigate that seemingly useless piece of information. Worry about a few loose scientists or eliminate the dangerous nuclear threat?

  
It was an obvious answer. Seemed to be, anyway. Send Snake in, eliminate the threat. Easy peasy win for Philanthropy.

  
_Stupid, stupid, stupid._

  
That was the mantra running through his head as he helped his partner shuck off his sneaking suit, the skintight outfit limned with a curtain of fresh sweat. Snake was sweating at a rate that overpowered its wicking ability- should have been impossible.

  
"I'm so fucking hot," Snake grunted, voice gritty and eyes wet. He fumbled at a latch located under his arm and when it failed to release he ripped it off with a snarl.  
Otacon moved as fast as he could, fingers deft. The scent of Snake's skin filled his nose, his lungs.

 

"Any idea what was in those bombs? What was in the smoke?" Useless questions. Of course Snake wouldn't know, that was _his_ job. But it was something to say, something to take up the space between them as he unzipped and unbuttoned what had to be the world's most complicated piece of clothing.

  
"I'd ask you the same thing," Snake replied, freeing his arms from the suit, finally. "All I know is it took a while for it to kick in, and now I can't even think straight. See straight."

  
"Fuck," Otacon fell to his knees, peeling the suit along with him. Snake's skin was flushed, shining. Unnatural. He looked up as his fingers untied Snake's boots. "Do you think you're in danger?" He had run Snake's vitals as soon as they had stumbled into the ramshackle apartment they were calling home, and everything had checked out fine. Elevated heartbeat, maybe, dehydration, yes, but... fine.

  
Except obviously not, because Snake was peering down at him with glassy eyes, the hand anchored on the wall for balance cracking the plaster.  
"I think.... I think I need to lay down," Snake pushed away from the wall, pushing away from Otacon's hands simultaneously. He gripped at his falling suit, hands tight. "I'll... I'll tell you if anything changes."

  
Otacon felt scared, worried. Confused. "Okay," he said to a retreating back, standing up and uselessly dusting his knees off.

  
He'd check on Snake in a while, he decided. He had some calls to make.

 

* * *

 

  
It was an hour later when Otacon sat back from his whirring laptop, fingers tapping in frustration. He was no closer to finding out what Snake had ingested than he was when he got the fuzzy codec call two hours previously, alerting him that Snake had completed the mission with complications.

  
He stood up, wavering. His vision went blurry- must have been a headrush.

  
"Snake," he called as he picked his way towards the bedroom (only bedroom in the place, the shithole). "Snake, how are you-"

  
" _Don't come in,_ " Snake ordered as his fingers grazed the door handle. Otacon froze in midstep. "You can't come in here, Otacon."

  
"What?!" Worry battled against the urge to obey Snake- he didn't boss Otacon around lightly. He always had a good reason for what he did. "Snake, what's wrong?"

  
A moment of silence, then the sound of footsteps. A thud, indicating that Snake was settling against the door- a barrier.

  
"I don't feel like myself," Snake's voice was guttural. moreso than usual. "I don't know what was in those explosives, but I- I'm not thinking right."

  
Otacon touched the door, as if he could reach Snake through the thin wood. "Please let me in," he pleaded. His mind was running a mile a minute, filled with worst case scenarios. Just one look at Snake would alleviate his most immediate fears. One look.

  
He wiped the sudden wave of sweat from his forehead, nauseous.

  
"Just stay out, Otacon," Snake mumbled. The sound of him sliding down the door made Otacon ball up his hands. This was his fault. Snake was in pain, somehow, and this was his fault.

Eyes misting, he went to retrieve his laptop. He could at least be useful.

 

* * *

 

It was forty five minutes before Snake spoke next, rousing Otacon from his dazed research. He had managed to quarantine the series of chemicals used in the bio-weapon, but their order and configuration eluded him. What was their purpose? It wasn't to kill outright, obviously, so-

  
"Otacon," Snake's voice was labored. "I can feel you through the door."

  
What an odd thing to say. Otacon shifted from where he had sunk to lean against the door, his back warm from where Snake's heat was pervading the surface.

  
...Or maybe it was his own heat, he thought, his fingers stumbling slick over his keyboard. He couldn't stop sweating. Couldn't focus on the words he was typing and reading.

 

"How are you feeling, Snake," Otacon asked, his own voice startling him with its raspiness. He cleared his throat. "Are you still... Do you want me to leave you alone?"

Snake answered immediately. "No."

  
"Can I get you anything?" Otacon was aware he had a habit of mothering Snake when he was injured, sick. He couldn't help it. He pressed his face against the door, his hair clotting to his cheek with moisture. Couldn't help but think if he was affected too, if this was what Snake was experiencing.

  
"You can... I..." Snake tried, obviously having trouble with his words. " _Fuck_."

  
Silence. Otacon set his laptop to the side, delicately resting it on the threadbare carpet. He shut it with shaking fingers. As an afterthought, he set his glasses on top of it before carding his hands through his hair.

  
"I think it's affecting me, too," he admitted to the door, to Snake. "Maybe... residual spores on your suit, got too close."

  
"Would make sense," Snake's voice was so close, reverberating through the wood next to Otacon's ear. It made his skin prickle, his toes curl minutely. "Sorry to infect you with whatever this is."

  
"I'm the one who's sorry," Otacon replied, shucking his shirt over his too-warm abdomen, leaving it at his chest instead of removing it when removing meant breaking contact with the door. With Snake. "I should have-"

  
He paused. What- something was definitely making contact with his ass.

  
He looked down at Snake's hand, which had wormed its way under the considerable gap under the cheap door. It somehow looked unapologetic, which was an odd look for a hand to have.

  
As if sensing his shock, Snake explained, "I can't help it. Gotta."

  
A bead of sweat dripped from Otacon's nose, splattering on his shirt. He felt it soak in, felt it with every cell of his oversensitive skin. "You... you sill want me out here?"

  
"Yeah. It's a good idea to stay out there."

 

* * *

 

The purpose of the drug wasn't to kill, Otacon concluded minutes later. It was to absolutely torture. Elevate physical sensation. Douse rational thinking.

  
Almost like a .... sex pollen, he thought almost hysterically. The kind of thing fanfiction was written about.

  
It was a pretty terrifying concept, in reality. A reality where Snake could have fallen prey to it in enemy territory had it not been for his heightened resistance to substances. He shivered at the thought, shivered from the feeling of Snake's fingers brushing his own from under the door, shivered from the heat of Snake's back. So close. So fucking distant. 

"What are you afraid will happen if I come in there?" Otacon tried.

  
"What do you think," Snake replied, voice flat. His fingers flexed against Otacon's own.

  
Stalemate.

  
Fuck, it was a thousand degrees in their apartment. Otacon never felt warm- his fingernails were constantly purple, his clothing always layered. It was the curse of eating one meal a day (when Snake reminded him that hey, it was food time), so the change should have been a relief.

  
It wasn't.

  
It felt instead like some tropical cloud had descended upon him, a wave of humidity that made his skin crawl. He threw a look to the ceiling, finally pulling off the sodden rag that was his shirt. A flurry of sensation followed his hands as he lifted to fabric, throwing it away from himself. Huh.

  
Curious, he repeated the motion, his own hands dragging up his chest.

  
_Oh._

  
"My skin is..." He couldn't stop petting himself, if that was the word, smoothing his hands along his torso. It wasn't the feel of skin (and bone) that was extraordinary, it was the feel of being _touched_.

  
"What's going on, Otacon?" Snake sounded worried, voice muffled.

  
Otacon's fingers- oh, this would be embarrassing later- slipped fractionally underneath the waistband of his baggy cargo pants. "Heh. Maybe, uh, you're the one who shouldn't come out here," he huffed, unable to stop the quiver in his tone.

  
"Otacon," Snake barked, demanding information.

  
"I think you should really..." Come out here, Otacon wanted to finish. Instead, he palmed at his face, willing his brain into obedience. "This has to be over soon," he moaned.

  
"Yeah," Snake agreed, voice tight.

* * *

 

"So, uh... What are you wearing?" Snake piped up a few minutes later.

  
Otacon choked out a laugh, both because he was down to his boxers (his awesome, Gundam boxers) and because _really, Snake?!_

  
"Come out and see," Otacon said, half serious and half suffering. He yelped, then, when the door was cracked open and he collapsed backwards. His back slipped down the wood in a way that was both entirely unpleasant and erotic at the same time. His skin was traitorous.

  
Snake's face revealed itself from the dark confines of the bedroom. "Nice," he said appraisingly, face serious but eyes flickering with hunger. The smell of sweat drifted out from the room, heavy and damp. Snake's sweat had no right to smell so good, so musky and deep.

  
Otacon thunked his head once, twice against the floor. _It smelled so fucking good._

  
"I'm going to come out there," Snake warned, widening the doorway enough for Otacon to get an eyeful. He was still wearing his sneaking suit, the fabric pulled just above his-

  
"Oh, my god," Otacon muttered.

  
Snake swallowed, audibly. "Yeah." Agreement.

 

* * *

  
Otacon would be lying if he said he tried to resist. If not for his sake, for the sake of their friendship, their partnership-

  
But any refusal he might have dredged from his scattered brain died the second Snake shuffled towards him and-

  
touched

  
his face, stomach, back, legs, how was he all over at once

  
_yeah_  
  


* * *

 

 

The first time was a relief, quick and fast and, god, perfect.

  
'We could have been doing this all along," Otacon caught himself thinking during, a thought that was silly and quickly dispelled by Snake's strong hands, wet mouth, pushing thighs.

  
Perfect.  
  


* * *

 

 

"You're so hot, Snake, shit," Otacon murmured the third time in, voice thick and catching as Snake bit the hell out of his hips. It was a sight for sore eyes, which, coincidentally, his eyes were. His whole body was sore, ached, except for where Snake was touching him.

  
There, it felt like heaven. Perfection.

  
"I wanna fuck you," Snake growled, moving onto Otacon's already bruised legs, adding a few more.

  
"Haven't we been doing that?" Otacon grabbed Snake's hair, rough, then soft as he ran his fingers down his chiseled jaw.

  
Snake kissed his palm, then kissed his dick. "I want more," he stated plainly, his large hands coming up to lift Otacon's thighs up, the motion easy. His eyes looked up, unashamed.

  
"Please," Otacon heard himself saying.

 

* * *

 

The fifth time was teetering on the edge of the drug's stupor. Actions were growing slower, intentional, but still underlined with an urgency to alleviate. To complete.

  
Consequences were also beginning to loom in the horizon (what were they going to do after this? what was going to happen to their friendship? their goals?), but in all honesty they were easy to ignore with a dick down your throat.

  
"Otacon," Snake's voice during sex was hypnotic. Otacon was never going to be able to unhear it. "You're incredible." His fingers were soft against Otacon's back, his hair, his face. Tracing around his stretched lips, catching his saliva.

 

Otacon hummed, glowing from the praise.

 

  
God, this was a mistake.

 

* * *

 

The next day was awkward. They didn't avoid each other, per se, but every time Otacon looked at Snake all he could see was his cock, his face screwed up in orgasm, his-

  
Yeah, it was weird. But Otacon was used to weird, was weird himself, so he resolutely barreled on. Snake would sometimes look at him oddly, face questioning, and he would bandage the silences with information.

  
"It turns out the gas they used on you was a prototype for a much more lethal form," he quipped, eyes fixed on his computer. "I'm glad you got hit with just the garden variety, can you imagine-"

  
"I don't have to imagine," Snake said, grinding his cigarette out into a plastic potted plant. "Neither of us do."

  
"Snake-"

  
Snake interrupted him with a sigh. "Listen, Otacon, were the chips successfully eliminated?"

  
Otacon nodded, throat tight. "Yeah, and the backup data- you got it all. Good job, Snake."

  
Snake left the room.

  
The air was freezing.

 

* * *

 

"I'm sorry," Otacon said after a few days of this. He was exhausted, being unable to sleep out of anxiety of what Snake was thinking. What he thought of him.

  
Snake looked at him from where he was gazing at a newspaper, a massive figure on the couch. Otacon could see the bruises he had left on his neck. He felt sick.

  
"Otacon," Snake started.

  
"No, I want you to listen. We were drugged, and I'm sorry. I should have left you alone like you asked," Otacon insisted, his bowl of Wheaties an unappetizing pile of mush. He pushed it away, disgusted with it and with himself. "So yeah, I'm sorry, Snake."

Snake set his newspaper aside. "I'm not."

Otacon's mouth opened and closed, fishlike.

"I'm not sorry," Snake said. "I regret the circumstances of the situation, but I don't regret what happened. What happened with us," He lit a cigarette, the only nervous tic in his persona. His eyes drilled into Otacon's, solid and confident. "Do you?"

  
"Snake, you can't mean that."

  
Snake shrugged. His cigarette smoke snuck into Otacon's lungs, irritating and crude.

  
Otacon shook his head, too many thoughts happening at once. "I need... I need a while. This is.... a lot to take in." He covered his face with his hands, taking calming breaths.

  
"Take all the time you need," Snake offered.

 

* * *

 

 

It turned out that Otacon needed precisely fifteen minutes, because after that amount of time he barged into the bedroom in the midst of Snake's morning calisthenics.

"I've thought about it," he announced, crouching next to Snake's shirtless form. The way he eyed his torso appreciatively wasn't lost on Snake.

  
"Yeah? What's your conclusion, Doc?"

  
"I want to test our, uh, situation. Without the variable of the biological weapon, of course."

  
Snake grinned, wolfish. "Is that your fancy way of propositioning me?"

  
Otacon frowned. "Come on, Snake, at least let me have that. But yeah, I guess I am."

  
"Sure you're not having an inner meltdown?"

  
"Fifty percent sure. Are you?"

  
"I don't do inner turmoil. Heh. Think I could get you to do that... thing? With your mouth? Again?"

  
"What thi- oh. OH. Yeah, I mean, but can we not talk about it?"

  
Snake shrugged, and they proceeded to not talk about it. Vigorously.

 

* * *

 

THE END

  
and they lived happily ever after

  
~~except we all know that they didn't~~

 

 

 

 


End file.
